Winds esker                
  
                                          
 There Was This Place That  For Two Years 
 I Couldn'T  Go To.  Regardless  How Much 
 Discussed  With  Others, Or  Pointed Out 
 On  Maps, I Could Not  Think Of  It When 
 Alone.  I Would  Often Travel  Past  The 
 Fork, Where A Right  Turn  Would  Surely 
 Take Me  There, But Even Then, Something 
              Kept Me Away.               
                                          
 When  I  Finally Got  There,  After Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,   The  Place   Was  Surreal.  An 
 Esker, Like  A Needle-Thin  Rift  Out In 
 The  Lake,  But   Ten  Meters  High  And 
 Adorned In  Birch,  Willow, Bracken, And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice The  View To  Either Side.  There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T  Recognize Them. First Off,  They 
 Were Much Too Close,  As The Lake Should 
 Stretch For  A Hundred  Meters  More  On 
 Both  Sides. But  Now  I  Felt  I  Could 
 Almost  Reach Out  And Touch  Them.  And 
 Then,  When I Realized Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They Were Of The  Right Lake.  But  This 
      Lake Is Large, Fractured, And       
 Bipartite.  Like A  Pair Of Lungs Carved 
 Into  The Granite, And With No Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
    Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly     
 Understood Them  As Belonging Many Miles 
                  Away.                   
                                          
 I  Examined   The  Ridge,  The  Treeline 
 Above.  Was This What You Saw  Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                 Remember.                
                                          
 Carrying Forward,  On  The Very  Tip  Of 
 The  Esker,  I Found  The Ruins Of  Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
  Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath 
 The  Moss,  And  Strange Slabs  Inserted 
 Into  The  Slope Like  Dams  Against The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting There,  I  Could See Across  The 
 Narrowed Lake  My Entire Path To Where I 
 Sat:  From The  Stairwell Of  My  House, 
 Through The  Old Woods  Behind  The Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And  Then  Back  Under It, 
 Through  The  Fancy  Villas,   Over  The 
 Fields, And Then  That Right Turn At The 
                   Fork.                  
                                          
 And  Then  The Stairs  Up On  The Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back, This  Was  Probably  It. 
 Hidden In A  Grove,  There  Were  Stairs 
 Much  Like  The Ones I Currently Sat On, 
 Old And Worn  Down,  That  Lead  You  Up 
 Onto The Esker. The Point  Of Entry. Had 
 I  Insted Opted To Walk The Path At  Its 
 Foot,  I'M  Sure My Experience  Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The  Lake,  There  Were   People  In 
 Boats. I Wondered,  Could They Even  See 
 Me? If I  Shouted,  Would They  Turn  To 
         Stare Right Through Me?